A Good Idea At The Time
by JayRain
Summary: Nothing in life is certain, except death and taxes, even if you're Samus Aran. Heck, especially if you're Samus Aran.
1. Prologue

_It was a Good Idea, At the Time_

_by J. Rolande_

**Prologue**: _In which Samus Aran has an idea that seems good at the moment_

It was a flawless plan, easier to execute than most bounties. Anyone with the abundance of motivation and lack of scruples could have pulled it off. Actually, anyone had; lots of anyones, to be quite honest. Some got away with it; some got caught; and others discovered their sense of morality at the last moment and decided against it.

Needless to say, as Samus Aran finished her business at the Federation Postal Station, she was hoping to be included among the anyones who had gotten away with this flawless plan.

Really, she deserved to get away with it. "Some gratitude," she muttered to herself as the airlock whooshed closed behind her, sealing her in her ship, away from the listening ears of the populace all crowded into this particular station, the only station that could be certain to process their paperwork quickly enough to make the strict Federation deadlines. "I save their asses from the damned pirates how many times? And they make me pay taxes." She muttered a few other unsavory thoughts and phrases as she lifted off the landing platform. "Should have let the pirates let the Metroids loose on them. Should have let Ridley get away and take the baby with him. But no, had to follow him to Zebes."

She punched a few buttons on the control panel and winced as the ship's engines groaned in protest. The money she would have to pay if she were caught would certainly make a new ship, let alone engine repairs, an impossibility. However, it was an impossibility now, as it was. In a strange twist of irony, or fate, or something conspiring against her, the peace Samus had brought to the galaxy had put her out of work. Foolishly she had squandered most of her earnings early on, assuming her skills, honed and perfected and flawlessly lethal, would always be in demand.

"Stupid," she grumbled to herself. Stupid, probably, but maybe ignorant was the better word. There _had_, after all, been quite the rash of bounties in a short span of time. Other hunters probably could have taken care of the threats, and could have used the money. But because of her skills, Samus had been chosen for the jobs. Hell, they were probably in the post station, trying to inconspicuously execute the same plan she was attempting.

Finally, the engines stopped their groaning and grumbling, and thus Samus stopped hers. The ship's trembling and shivering stabilized a bit, and Samus relaxed. Well, she relaxed about this, anyway. Her restless mind kept jumping back to the forms that were now probably buried under many other peoples' forms, ready to be sent out and processed by the gigantic processing plant at the Galactic Federation head quarters. Would her falsities be discovered? Would she pass through with flying colors? And if she were discovered, would the Taxing Agent see her name on the forms and pass over it, as a kickback for her services to the galaxy?

She wasn't one to break the rules; while she had been a rogue agent and feelancer in her early bounty hunting days, she had always stuck to the codes. Yes, early on she had had her slip ups and share of mistakes, but none of them were permanent, and she'd always learned from them. She had eventually earned the respect, and later on, the fear, of other hunters. She'd gone from a laughingstock to actual competition. When she was planetbound, or on any of the Federation's platforms, she abided by their rules. She paid their landing fees. She gave a portion of her bounties in taxes to the Federation. She had never even jaywalked, for Chozo sake! And while she was thinking about the Chozo, they had raised her to be noble and just and a credit to any society she was a part of, be it human, Chozo, Pirate, hell, space slugs.

She sighed. She wanted to be noble; her Chozo foster father had taught her better than this. But there was no denying it; desperate times called for desperate measures, and she could take comfort in the knowledge that she probably was not the only person, bounty hunter or otherwise, who was going to try and cheat the Federation tax system this fiscal cycle.

"It's probably corrupt anyway," she said aloud, feeling a strange need to verbally reassure herself. Somehow if she said it, it seemed alright. If it was out in the open, rather than cloistered away in her mind, it seemed less... criminal.

She winced in spite of herself even as the word entered her mind. "Criminal" had been part of her vocabulary ever since she began hunting. "Track down escaped criminal..." Or "The jury didn't convict him, but I know he's a criminal..." So many scenarios. So many bounties. Samus couldn't start equating her behavior with that of a criminal, not now. The deed was done; it was too late to be noble.

Well, it wasn't, not really. But she was trammeled now. If she pulled strings with the Federation, they'd start asking questions. If she made up lies about forgetting information or whatnot, they'd look closely at her paperwork and realize her fraudulent information. So for all practical intents and purposes, yes, it was too late to be noble.

A familiar whistling sound split the white noise of the engines around her, and she looked up to see her Metroid hatchling, having shrunk down since the last Zebes mission, bobbing leisurely in midair behind her. Samus smiled and reclined in her pilot's chair. Well, she _had_ formed a bond with the creature. It _had_ imprinted on her, as the animal behaviorists would have said. So in a way, it _was_ like her child, and she was _like_ its mother... wasn't she? It depended upon her to provide for it, making it, thus, a dependent. Right?

"Of course," she said decisively, as the Metroid, presumed deadly, and possibly the most dangerous creature in the known universe, settled on her shoulder and nestled its oddly gelatinous body against her neck, almost seeming to purr. She just had to believe that this would work out alright, that this one small bit of fraud, which she figured she deserved anyway, would be enough to change their fortunes.

Mere days later, just past the Federation Standard Taxation Deadline, or FSTD (since economic institutions were so fond of abbreviations), Bill, who had been assigned the unsavory task of sorting through the A forms, happened to come across the documents of Aran, Samus. As a young intern, he'd heard the stories about the formidable bounty hunter and how she had once been thought to be a man, and how she'd pretty much single-handedly brought peace to the galaxy (or at least as far as the Federation's arm reached). He handled her form with fear and trembling, his nervous eyes skimming the answers she'd filled in. He couldn't help but wonder what a bounty hunter made in a Fiscal Cycle, and how they filed, and such. And then he happened to see that something was filled in, written in a box that he never would have thought _she_, the indomitable bounty hunter, would have filled in. And he wondered, _when did Samus Aran have a dependent?_

Carefully plucking the sheaf of forms from the others, he hit the portable com link attached to his tie. "Hey there, Huston? We have a problem..."


	2. Chapter the First

**Chapter The First: **_In which Armstrong Huston reminisces about Samus Aran, and is shocked by the discovery of her deviant behavior_

"Hey there, Huston? We have a problem..."

"Go ahead, Bill," Armstrong Huston, debonair businessman, said with a yawn, leaning back in his desk chair.

"Well, sir, it's just that... well, I was sorting through the files, like I usually do, the late a's, a-m through a-z, and all, and included in that range is a-r. Of course. But you knew that."

"Yes, Bill. Yes, I did know that. Just tell me what the problem is," he said, smoothly, hiding his irritation behind a plastered on grin. He remembered what his parents always told him about speaking with others: always smile, even if–no, especially if–you aren't face to face with them, because the warmth and genuine interest would show through, even if–no, especially if–you didn't feel warm, or particularly genuine.

"Well, sir, in those I came across Samus Aran's tax return forms."

This made Armstrong sit up straighter. His interest level, nanoseconds before in the red zone, had now piqued off the charts. He tried to sound casual, though. His parents had also always told him never to give away just how important or interesting information was. "It gives the opposing party the upper hand," Armstrong Sr. said. Armstrong Jr. cleared his throat imperceptibly. "Of course you found Samus Aran's return forms," he said sensibly. "A-r is included in the range of your assigned files. And Aran's a tax-paying Federation citizen. I think somebody's a little star-struck," he added, hoping he came off as teasing, rather than as sarcastic and cross as he was now feeling.

Bill's voice cracked on the other end of the com link, and Armstrong could almost see the intern's face flush. "No, I know that, those facts. I know that," he repeated weakly. "It's just that... well... She did something odd that I noticed... I thought you'd be interested..."

"What did she do? Just spit it out," Armstrong finally snapped, losing his cool, and not particularly caring if he sounded irritated.

"She... she claimed a dependent."

It was the human equivalent of Zebes exploding again. Or, it would have been, if Armstrong Huston wasn't so carefully coached in the exact art and subtle science of keeping his composure, regardless of the information imparted to him. "Well then, Bill, thank you for that interesting piece of information," he said genially. "Why don't you bring the file up to me right now; this is interesting news."

"I can put it on the next batch up–"

"No no no," Armstrong replied, adding a pleasant laugh for good measure. "I'd like you to personally hand-deliver it to me. After all, Samus Aran is a galactic hero; I wouldn't want anything happening to her tax return. Just think of it as you doing your part to help out the one who saved your galaxy," he finished smoothly. He then snapped off his end of the com link before Bill could argue, or ramble on obsequiously.

He sat still for a moment, elbows resting on his glass-topped desk, tenting his fingers. He did not know how to categorize his feelings at this moment in time. He knew he also had a few more moments in time before Bill came up to his office; the sorting facility was a good distance from the executives' offices, and as an intern who hadn't seen anything other than the bottom rungs of the Federation's Fiscal Facility, or FFF, he would be nearly clueless as to how to get to Mr. Huston's office.

This normally would have annoyed Armstrong, but for once he was glad for this breach in the normal efficiency that ruled his life.

The truth was, while he had been born for this career, bred for this career, and now excelled in this career, it had never made him happy. He'd realized early on that it would never make him happy. Fortunately this was during the early days of bounty hunting, after Samus Aran's first Zebes mission. When her ship's signal had been lost in the Talon system and it looked like she'd fail to deliver on her bounty, it had briefly opened a window of opportunity for other bounty hunters: aged and young... old and new... and after her dramatic reveal, male and female alike. Armstrong had been a bright and headstrong lad of twenty-two, nearly finished at Galactic University's Fiscal School (or, the GUFS). When financial study failed to satisfy his typical wanderlust, he decided to try his hand at bounty hunting. He would join the hunt, be a pioneer, help bring peace to the galaxy! He would attain lofty ideals!

He would ultimately fail, but not before he had met Samus Aran face to face on the Ceres Station a few short years ago. He'd wanted to cash in on the bounty; he thought he was pretty brilliant, ambushing her. He tried to bargain with her, persuade her to work with him, because, as his parents had taught him, two heads were better than one—and in bounty hunting, two guns were better than one. And space did get so lonely...

They spent a beautiful night together in orbit of Ceres, serenaded by the melodious whistles of an energy sucking alien life form Samus seemed unnaturally attached to. The equivalent of morning came, at which point she kicked his ass, and he'd traded in his sleek gunship for tuition for a final semester at GUFS, thus ending a less than illustrious career as a bounty hunter, if it could even be called a career at all.

So now he sat at a glass-topped desk in a corner office overlooking the FFF's compound, slapping the Galactic Federation stamp of approval on tax forms that had been flagged for suspicion at some point in the processing... well, process. Occasionally he had a hand in tax reform discussions, but only when his father, sitting comfortably atop the corporate ladder, pulled the strings to allow it. In fact, the corner office was simply the result of pulled strings as well. It was a small concession Armstrong Sr. had made, which let Armstrong Jr. know that at least he hadn't been disowned (and his trust fund was still safe). Mostly they kept on separate paths, because it was no secret how Armstrong Sr. felt about Armstrong Jr.'s stint as a bounty hunter (who had never hunted anything, if we are being perfectly honest here).

A sharp rap sounded at the door, and Armstrong straightened his tie, ran his tongue over his teeth to check for any lodged lunch left there, and when satisfied, pasted on a bright smile and proceeded confidently to the door. Sure enough, Bill the Intern stood there, practically trembling. Silly Bill. All he knew was that he was standing at the door to a corner office, handing a personally requested file to Mr. Huston! Armstrong had to remind himself that it was the illusion that mattered, sort of like with Samus Aran. In suit and gunship she was an indomitable force of nature, to the point of being supernatural, as if she were the offspring of space itself. For Armstrong, his sleek three-piece suit and silk tie were his space suit, and his office was his gunship, making him appear indomitable.

"Thank you, Bill," he finally said, after enjoying a moment of watching Bill the Intern squirm and tremble, from the top of his wiry yellow hair to the laces of his practical boots, to the file folder in his hand, complete with bitten nails. Armstrong extended a perfectly manicured and moisturized hand and plucked the folder away from his foil. "Thank you, Bill," he repeated, this time his inflection making it clear that he wanted him to leave, a taciturn order with which Bill complied, leaving Armstrong to settle at his desk and look over the forms for himself.

Sure enough, the "dependent" box was checked off in Samus Aran's bold handwriting. He frowned and tapped the desk thoughtfully. Their brief affair... alright, their one-night-stand, had been two, almost three years ago, and this was the first time her tax return forms had been flagged for the dependent issue. So there was a good chance the dependent was not his, and he could therefore remain independent (he allowed himself a brief chuckle at his cleverness). He wanted to sigh with relief, but controlled himself. He would have to await the results and findings of an audit to confirm that.

And now there was no question in his mind: an audit was absolutely mandatory in this case. Samus Aran was a lovely young lady, no doubt, and in many ways. But she had never struck him as the motherly type, even with that creepy Metroid thing hovering around her like those lost puppies he'd heard about in Earth Studies his first year at GFUS.

He stared at the dependent box on the forms until the boxes and lines and handwriting all started to blur into one fiscal fiasco. There had to be a good explanation, he reasoned. There always was. And since there would be, he had no reason to feel guilty about setting up the paperwork for an audit. As far as bounty hunters went, Samus was as clean as they came; well, as clean as a person can be who is paid to kill, and all. He doubted she'd have anything to hide.

And besides, he thought, settling back, and again tenting his fingers, it would be sweet payback for the way she'd thrown him out after that night back on Ceres.


	3. Chapter the Second

**Chapter the Second:** _In which Samus receives Disturbing News which could bring about her downfall._

_Five minutes remaining. For some reason there were always blinking lights and obnoxiously screeching alarms accompanying any planet evacuation. Most would think Samus was used to it by now, but the truth was that it never got any easier. Knowing a planet was about to be irrevocably changed, or a space station utterly destroyed because of her was never easy. It meant that in addition to being the great Savior she was also the great Destroyer._

_Two minutes remaining. With two minutes there was no way she'd be able to rescue the Daschora, which she regretted, but it was unavoidable. The etecoons she could let rot. Stupid little blue furballs and their fancy wall jumps, giggling at her ineptitude... well, they would see who was wall jumping now, as their incinerated pieces flew out to decorate the far reaches of space..._

_Time is up. NO! She was so close to her ship—_

Samus awoke gasping, feeling her heart beat furiously and relentlessly at her sternum. She couldn't believe the destruction of Zebes still haunted her, and it wasn't just because of the etecoons, or even the daschora. She caught her breath and got her bearings again. She was in her gunship. The baby Metroid, which she'd smuggled off of Zebes, rested comfortably at the foot of her bunk. And the comlink alert was flashing above her, buzzing softly.

Samus stumbled out of bed, irritating the Metroid, who clicked its pincers at her in annoyance, and possibly threat. It was cute, yes, but it was also the ultimate weapon, an engineered predator. She made her way to the cockpit, not even pausing to grimace at the groans of the gunship. They were as threatening as the Metroid, but not as threatening as the constantly buzzing and flashing comlink. She fell into the cockpit seat, still not entirely awake, and slapped the button that brought her to her inbox.

At this, she wished she was back on Zebes, awaiting its imminent destruction. The communique was from the FFF, or Federation Fiscal Facility.

_Dear Samus Aran,_

_Due to questionable information on your tax returns the FFF has opted to perform an audit on your financial situation for the previous fiscal year before it can finish processing your returns and dole out any refund due. A tax agent will arrive at your domicile one week from today. Please have any applicable documentation, including itemized receipts, available to expedite the process._

_Sincerely,_

_Armstrong Huston II_

_FFF Agent_

Samus swore loudly and smashed her fist into the dash, then swore again as pain radiated through her fist and up her arm. Armstrong Huston: what a bastard! He'd been a sell-out in his "bounty hunting days", if they could be called that, since he'd never managed to hunt a single thing. And he was a sell-out now.

Or maybe she was. After all, it was her falsification of information that landed her in this mess. She cast a guilty glace at the Metroid, which had made its way to the cockpit, pincers still clicking, turned toward her in a way that she supposed was assessing her availability as a meal. In the last months, as money dwindled, food did too, and neither of them had been eating very well lately. She thought about making a deal with this creature, a cut of the tax return money, and realized that it would have no use for the money. It would prefer a cut of her.

She sat blankly for an uncertain amount of time. Financial records. She'd need to find those. It wouldn't be hard, because there weren't a lot of them these days, and her domicile, as the communique put it, was her gunship. Piece of crap as it was, she still owned it, and couldn't afford the overinflated rents on the Federation platforms. With peace restored to the galaxy, there weren't many jobs for her these days, and other than bounty hunting, she didn't know what else she could do, so she scrimped and lived off as much of her rewards as she could. She supposed, if peace was restored to the galaxy, she wouldn't really need her Power Suit, and could auction it off, but the truth was that she was attached to it. Not in the literal biological sense, but mentally. Emotionally. The same way she was attached to the Metroid, which, if it had had eyes, would be eyeing her hungrily right now.

Well, there was no way out of the mess now. She would just have to do her best to pull off this ruse, and hope that, A, the audit was just a formality, and B, that her reputation as the galactic savior was enough to keep her safe from paying out the ass.


	4. Chapter the Third

**Chapter the Third:** _In which the Bobs, FFF Tax Agents Extraordinaire, arrive at Samus Aran's domicile, prepared to Audit her finances from the previous fiscal year._

Bob the First glanced at Bob the Second as they approached the landing lot on Federation Platform Beta. "This is her domicile?" he asked.

Bob the Second appraised the ship. "I suppose so. Those bounty hunters... they don't make what they used to, you know."

"Apparently. But a place to raise a dependent?"

"Who knows. Single motherhood was never easy, regardless of the era or planet, you know. Perhaps this is the best she can do. What with her career pretty much over."

"I suppose, Bob. You usually do have a good point."

"Thanks, Bob."

"You're welcome, Bob."

The Bobs approached the ship, unable to miss the rust patches on the underside of the hunter-class gunship, or the way the paint job had started chipping away at the edges of plates. The ingress/egress ramp leading up to the entrance creaked ominously as they marched up in unison, and rapped in unison on the door.

There was a slight hiss of the airlock releasing, and then they stood face to face with Samus Aran. As per usual she was clothed in her foreboding power suit, the golds and reds of the mysterious metal plates gleaming in contrast to the dull ship around them. "Gentlemen," said the mechanized voice. A metal-encased hand gestured to allow them in. "Let's make this quick, I have a job in another system."

The Bobs nodded sagely, again in unison, as Samus cringed beneath her visor. When conducting official business she always wore her suit, as it made her far more imposing, which, she supposed, was one reason she couldn't bring herself to auction it off. But beneath the helmet and visor, face barely visible, she was able to use the barrier to bend the truth to suit her needs.

The truth was that she wanted these tax agents out of her ship as quickly as possible. And she did want to get to another system, but there was no job waiting. There never was. And she cringed, because in that sage, unison nod of the identically dressed Bobs, it seemed they saw directly through her lie.

"Don't worry, this is just routine."

"It shouldn't take long."

"Provided you have the proper documents."

"Do you?"

Samus's hard metal feet marched over to a box sitting on the table, and her gloved hand shoved it toward the Bobs. One of them, she didn't know which, flew toward it with lightning quick reflexes and caught it before it tumbled off the table, scattering its contents everywhere. "Thank you," he said cordially, automatically.

For a fleeting moment Samus hoped they were cyborgs; they'd be easy to take out, and blame a circuitry malfunction. Her wave beam was still functional, barely, but enough to cause such a "malfunction".

She surreptitiously switched to her scan visor, which, while running low on juice, had enough to identify something already in the system: human. She sighed and pushed ideas of further fraud out of her mind. "Thank _you_," she replied, retreating to a corner of the main compartment of the ship, and watching as the Bobs sifted through her paperwork and began determining her fate.

"Well, we believe we're almost done," Bob the First, or was it the Second? said genially, primly placing the last of the paperwork into the box. "Everything here seems in order," the other one said in the same tone of voice.

Samus was about to heave a sigh of relief behind her visor, which was starting to develop condensation on it (the suit's cooling systems were failing slowly), when Bobs said, "But."

"But... what?" she said in her even, business tone of voice. "Everything seems in order."

"Yes. But... where is your dependent?"

"My... my dependent?" she asked, faltering for the first time.

"Yes. That is the real reason we're here." Bobs smiled in unison, folding their hands primly in their laps. "You checked that you had a dependent on your forms."

"Oh. Yes, yes I did."

"What is its name?"

_Name?_ Samus thought furiously. "Its name? Hatch," she said, thinking of the first thing that came to mind. "Hatch. Male. Young. Taking a nap, would not like to be disturbed." However, Samus thought, if they were to disturb "Hatch"... that could put an end to some of her problems. But then she'd face an audit for having a dangerous, supposed-eradicated alien life form in her possession...

"Do you have documentation for Hatch?"

"Like a birth certificate."

"Or certificate of adoption."

"Anything will do, really."

"Yes, just a formality."

"I... I should... just give me a moment to look. The communique asked for financial documentation, not familial," she added, hoping they'd buy the excuse.

"It's alright."

"We have the time."

"Haha, yes, we do. This is our job, after all."

"And this audit's taken far less time than they usually do, wouldn't you agree, Bob?"

"Yes, I certainly would, Bob."

Samus backed away from the room, and into the cockpit, where "Hatch" started and chirped angrily at seeing her in her suit. It screeched violently and attached itself to her helmet, draining the already low power reserves. Samus folded into her morph ball form and let off a pitifully weak bomb, but it was enough to dislodge the Metroid, yet blessedly not enough to further damage her ship.

She paced the cramped confines a bit, the Metroid watching her and her arm cannon nervously. "We have two choices," she said, more to herself than to the Metroid, who was still recovering from the blast. "We can tell them we lost the documents. That could work. Or... or you could come out with me..." she watched the Metroid carefully, wondering just how she could pull this off.

A quarter of an hour later the Bobs still sat in the main compartment with their hands folded primly in their laps, watching the door to the cockpit with cordial smiles plastered on their faces. Slowly the cockpit door slid open, and Samus Aran stepped out, suitless. But it was not the sight of suitless Samus that made them lose their smiles and drop their jaws, and reach for their comlinks and say, in unison, "Huston... we have a problem."


	5. Chapter the Fourth

**Chapter the Fourth:** _In which Samus comes clean and confesses her deviance and desperation_

"You have a Metroid."

"Yes, it's my dependent," Samus said to Armstrong Huston II, who stood distastefully in the drab gunship, watching the Metroid as it seemed to watch him, pincers clicking. So this was what he'd missed out on when Samus kicked his ass on Ceres. Perhaps work for the FFF really was preferable.

"Hatch is my dependent," she repeated with a tender smile, stroking the gelatinous mass with her forefinger. "He needs me."

"Samus, you realize that according to tax law 5.34.67.132.8 that you need special dispensation from the FFF if you wish to claim a nonhuman as your dependent."

"Oh... I–I wasn't familiar with that," she said, all wide-eyed innocence.

"Samus... why a Metroid?" he asked, and the Bobs nodded in agreement. "You were hired to wipe them out three years ago."

"Two and a half."

"Close enough."

"I don't know..." she said with a very tender smile, eyes appearing starry. "We... we bonded. It needed me. I needed it. I needed to care about _something_," she said, tears filling her eyes.

"Question..." Armstrong began slowly. "In your report from the Zebes mission you said the Metroid Hatchling was huge when it saved you, yet this one is... well, not small, but normal? I don't know. It's not huge, though."

"Oh... that. It repowered me and my suit; as it discharged all that power from the Motherbrain it seemed to... well, deflate. Like reversing the process sucked the life, and size out of it."

"I see... but why? Why take it from the planet?"

"They're so misunderstood."

"Maybe, but you realize you've committed tax fraud by saying this is your dependent. Tax law 5.34.132.8a states that contraband life forms will not be considered for dependent status."

"Armstrong... with your... strong arms..." she added coyly, "I feel like this creature's mother. Every female has a motherly instinct."

"Um, Samus, an instinct doesn't make you its mother, you know."

"Oh. It doesn't?" she asked, eyes wide and uncomprehending, face pale.

"No, that's tax law 5.34.132.80b, I believe. Psychological and emotional attachment shall not constitute dependent status. If that were the case, people would be claiming all sorts of things," he added with a laugh. "Hell, you could have claimed me!" he said.

Samus continued mechanically stroking the Metroid. "Are you quite finished, Mr. Huston?" she asked finally.

He cleared his throat and straightened his tie. "Yes, yes, I am. So now, we'll have to file the paperwork."

"...Paperwork."

"Yes, it'll only take me a few moments to draft up the documents."

"But what documents?"

"The Tax Code Violation, or TCV, forms. Documentation of the auditors' findings, and your signature stating that you committed tax fraud. We send the TCVs to the FFF, your case is reviewed, your fines assessed, and then everything will be A-OK." He smiled, showing off his pearly white teeth.

"Huston," Samus began desperately. She hated being reduced to desperation, but if she couldn't afford her taxes, she had a Sheegoth's chance in Lower Norfair of being able to afford a fine on top of her taxes. "Bobs. Please, I... yes, I made a mistake. It was a moment of desperation, or insanity, take your pick. I didn't know what else to do, and everyone else was doing it... bounty hunting isn't what it used to be. Huston, you were a Bounty Hunter, you should know that better than anyone."

Huston felt a momentary surge of pity for Samus. "I'm sorry, I really am, but rules are rules and the tax code is the tax code. Now, if you'd only violated 5.34.67.132.8 then I could just give you a slap on the wrist. But violating the sub-codes? And having a damned Metroid? After this the FFF will be the least of your worries. The FFDDALF will have a field day with you."

"The FFDDALF?"

"Federation Foundation for Destruction of Dangerous Alien Life Forms. You see why the abbreviation's a bit more preferable. Especially if you have to say it a lot."

"No!" Samus exclaimed. "You can't destroy Hatch."

"I won't, the FFDDALF will. As per the ZC of 2X05. Zebes Consortium. You know, the conference from the first time you were supposed to wipe these things out."

Samus's head swam with abbreviations and code numbers. "And... and if I refuse?" she finally asked dully.

"Then the GFHJC gets your case and you face far worse than fines. Oh, sorry," he added. "Silly me, abbreviations again. Galactic Federation High Judiciary Committee. Basically the fist of justice for the galaxy."

"Look, I brought peace to your damned galaxy and your stupid Federation!"

"Insulting the Federation is a code T... mild of course. Code Treason. Of course... because you violated their direct orders you may be up for a higher version of code T... Wow... this is so much worse than simple tax fraud. I could be published for this," he said almost dreamily, a starry look in his eyes that matched the starry sparkle of his teeth.

"I made a simple mistake! I'm Samus Aran!" she finally shrieked. "Everyone makes mistakes, even me!"

"And you learn from your mistakes by paying the consequences. Come on, Samus. It won't be that bad. Heck, you could even pull that argument before the GFHJC if you needed to... I'm sure members of the GFSS–Galactic Federation Supreme Senate–will be there and could testify—"

"Enough." Samus's voice had taken on a deathly calm, cold tone that made even the Bobs, who had sat quietly with their hands folded in their laps, matching smiles on their faces, look up, startled. "Just... file your TCV forms—"

"TVC forms."

"Whatever. File them and I'll deal with everything when the time comes," she said quietly.

Half an hour later Samus had signed all her forms. She methodically scrawled her signature on the lines of the forms Huston had magically prepared from the comfort of her ship. She didn't even wonder or marvel at how he had known exactly what buttons to push or anything of that sort to prepare and print the forms directly from her ship's onboard computer system. Certainly, as a Bounty Hunter, even a "wannabe" Bounty Hunter, he'd had a gunship very similar to this one, and had utilized the onboard computer system on it. And while gunships had changed in the past two to three years, Samus's... well, Samus's hadn't.

But this was not what she was currently thinking about. She was watching Hatch out of the corner of her eye, half waiting to signal him, half wondering why she was suddenly referring to him as, well, a him, and as Hatch. It had a gender and a name; it had an identity. Contraband or not, it was her dependent. And no tax code or abbreviation was going to change that. Nor was it going to change the fact that she would have no way of paying off her debt to the FFF and society as a whole if Huston, the Bobs, and their stack of papers ever made it back to the GF home planet.

With a final flourish of the pen she finished signing the last of the forms and slid the sheaf of papers over to Armstrong Huston and the Bobs. "That's the last one. I'm sorry for all the trouble you've been through."

"No trouble at all, Samus. Just doing our jobs, right boys?" Armstrong asked, and the Bobs nodded in perfect unison. "You should hear from the FFF in five to seven business days. The GFHJC... well... I can't say, but you should hear from them. If you want to avoid further charges, I'd suggest staying close to the central cluster of the GF." Armstrong rose from the rickety metal bench and extended his hand to Samus.

And now was the time to enact her final plan, the one that she knew would brand her an outcast forever and ever, amen. She was going to Magmoor Caverns for this, she knew, but she had her own hide to save.

She grabbed Armstrong's hand and pulled him in close, leaning into him as if to kiss him passionately.

Several things happened in very quick succession.

The Bobs gasped and rose half out of their seats.

Armstrong looked first surprised, then pleased, and proceeded to wrap his other arm around Samus's waist.

Hatch shrieked and squeed madly and descended upon Armstrong with a fury unmatched by any Samus had ever seen.

The whole emotional attachment thing had worked to her benefit after all; Hatch thought Armstrong was an enemy, and his advance and subsequent embrace were threatening attacks aimed at his mother figure. He latched onto Armstrong's head, pincers digging into the temples and tearing off the hairpiece of the Bounty Hunter turned Tax Agent, shocking everyone in the room. Armstrong's hands madly scrabbled at his head, either trying to dislodge the Metroid or keep his hairpiece in place, no one could tell. But it was only moments before he sank to his knees and keeled over, exposing his premature baldness in his death.

Hatch disengaged slowly and turned his gelatinous form toward the Bobs, who now rose fully out of their seats and began to slowly back toward the exit of the ship.

Everyone knows they didn't stand a chance, and describing their demise here would just be redundant.

When it was all over, Samus stared at the three disintegrating bodies on the floor of the main compartment. While she was grateful to Hatch for taking care of one of her messes, now she had another one to worry about.

"Oh well," she sighed, as she settled in the cockpit and began engine initiation. There was plenty of space dust floating around in plenty of regions of the galaxy. So much, so, that the Federation had stopped taking samples and researching it. At least for now she could sweep this mess out the door. Where she'd go next, she wasn't sure, but she was sure that for now it was best to keep a low profile. A very low profile.


	6. Epilogue

**Epilogue:** _In which we see where Samus's decisions land her years later._

"They said you know SR-388 inside and out," Dr. Yokoi said, scrutinizing the woman in front of him.

"Yes... yes I do," Samus Aran said with a nod of affirmation. "It was the second mission the Federation hired me for. I was to exterminate the Metroid threat."

"Right, right. That's what your records say. Are you still employed by the Federation at all?"

"No... after I blew up an entire planet they weren't keen on keeping me on. Besides, at that point I had destroyed the threat, so I'd technically fulfilled my contract. After that..."

"Right, right, peace returned to the galaxy."

"Yes. So... why SR-388?"

"Oh, curiosity, mainly."

Samus nearly choked on her already-chokable coffee. It was like drinking motor oil as it was, but in her case, beggars couldn't be choosers. "Curiosity? There's nothing there."

"Well, it's been, what, 8, 9 years since the last Zebes mission? We at Biologic Space Labs want to examine how the environments and ecosystems have changed since the Metroid were eradicated."

"And I'm the best one for the job since I've been there before, right?"

Dr. Yokoi fidgeted. "Sort of. See... no one else wants to go, even with the financial support we're offering. And our research indicates that you could use the money. And you can't really afford, literally or figuratively, to turn this down."

Samus sighed and shoved her coffee cup away, now nauseous. "No... no, I can't. You're right. Just hand me the contract, give me the terms, and we're on." Inwardly she cringed; she was now reduced to a tour guide of the most violent planet in the galaxy!

Dr. Yokoi slid the papers Samus's way and watched her peruse the fine print. "Ms. Aran," he began tentatively. "I just have to ask you one question."

Samus looked up and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "Yes?" she asked warily.

"Why? Why would you do it?"

"Do what?"

"The tax fraud. I mean, you brought peace to the galaxy, only to do something against the laws."

"Yeah, I know, it's a bit ironic," Samus said acridly. "But does it have anything to do with the terms of this contract? I'll pay my taxes on it, honestly," she added with sarcasm obvious in her voice.

"No, no, that's not my concern. I just had to wonder, that's all."

"Well..." Samus began, tapping her chin with her pen, remembering the tax forms, the baby Metroid... the Bobs smiling in unison... Armstrong and his tax jargon and abbreviations... and the way they'd all crumbled into dust... and the money she'd gotten from selling the baby Metroid on E-bay for medical research... She sighed and turned her attentions back to Dr. Yokoi.

"Let's just say, Doctor, that it was a good idea, at the time."

_Fin_

**Author Notes and Concluding Remarks: **_In which the author annotates her story, and makes remarks to conclude her writing of this piece of fanfiction_

I would like to conclude this piece with several thank you's to my reviewers! I won't address you individually, because others may come along in the future that won't wind up addressed here and they might feel left out and embittered, and I'd feel guilty, and no one needs that. So a heartfelt thank you to all who have read and reviewed this story. As an author I write because I enjoy it (which is why I continue my _Harry Potter_ fiction even though it's buried under mountains of stuff) but I also write because it gives me pleasure to know a reader has read something he or she enjoys.

When I got the idea for this (it did just pop into my head one day) I knew I couldn't resist. The fodder was there; I just had to rearrange it into something creative. Most of the little details were unintentional; I didn't plan for Armstrong to be a bumbling idiot who did what he did only because his father was a corporate guy. I didn't plan the Bobs, but once they happened I was in love with them and their role. About the only thing I planned was the trajectory of the story; the small details fell into place randomly and with, I hope, humorous results.

It's not idiotic or slapstick by any means (at least I hope not). It's satirical and cynical parody. It's Office Space goes to space. In short, it was a good idea, at the time. And at least my results turned out better than Samus's, right?

In short, it has given me pleasure as an author to write this, and enjoyment to see people reading and enjoying it. It makes me glad to make the world a slightly more cheerful place. Okay, maybe that's stretching it a bit, but seriously, thank you for your reviews, and I'm glad you have enjoyed this humble offering to the fanfiction deities. And I also made it through a paragraph without a parenthetical. Miracles do happen.

Now I'm really _Fin._


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